Grey and Overcast
by AwayForLunch
Summary: Predominantly Caleb/Tyler one-shots. Prompts welcome.
1. Of Waiters and Romantic Dinners

**Of Waiters and Romantic Dinners**

The square table was bedecked with a dark red cloth, and one end of the tablecloth shamelessly displayed a gravy stain. The ends of the tablecloth were frayed from over-washing, and even the red dye was beginning to discolour. The candle stood in its stand at the centre of the table, burning defiantly as the wax melted down and down. The candlelight threw odd shadow patterns on the tablecloth. Very interesting patterns. The stainless steel cutlery clinked against the plates, and the candle flame flickered occasionally, and the tough roast leg of lamb resisted regular stabs from the knife, despite added attempts to soften the meat by drenching it in gravy and mint sauce.

Caleb thought he would go crazy with boredom.

He had examined the infinitesimal gravy stains and blemishes on the red tablecloth with pinpoint precision, and had fingered the grooves on the wax candle obsessively, and had crushed each roasted pea with his knife in a genuine interest to discover how pea juice looked like. And he had been continually spooning mint sauce into his mouth, having given up on the tough-to-chew roast leg of fucking lamb.

And two complete hours had shuffled by, and Caleb was now ready to kill Sarah and Valentine's Day altogether.

"You know what I think about philosophy, like, in general? I think it's a branch of knowledge created by completely lazy guys who want nothing better than a good excuse to lounge around and think while others do the _real_ work," Sarah was saying animatedly, waving her fork at Caleb. "And that's why Kate wants to major in philosophy." And Sarah emitted a semi-affected laugh.

Caleb nodded vaguely and stared at Sarah's glossed lips, thinking that there was nothing worse in this world than a helium-headed pretty-girl trying to make smart and witty conversation. He swallowed another spoonful of mint sauce.

Sarah leant forward and let one strap of her lilac-coloured silk dress fall from her shoulder in feigned carelessness. She was not wearing a bra of any sort, and Caleb's eyes traveled wearily over her bare shoulder, nearly-exposed breast and just-out-of-sight cleavage. _I suppose this is my cue for a fucking raging hard-on, huh? Well it's not working, darling bitch._

Sarah smiled mischievously and looked into Caleb's eyes. "Caleb, I know I've said it already but you look damn hot in that suit. It's like prom night again isn't it?" And the heels of Sarah's slippers clicked on the marble floor.

Caleb stared blankly ahead, then the cogs and gears in his brain sprung into animation as he made to respond. "Yeah, you look beautiful too, Sarah." And Caleb spooned more mint sauce into his mouth and watched Sarah rouged cheeks blush even redder and thought that yes, there _was _something worse than a helium-headed girl acting smart, and it was a helium-headed girl who gives praise for the sake of receiving praise in return.

_Helium. Let's see, helium is a noble gas. Noble gas . . . right, that would be Group 18 of the Periodic fucking Table of fucking Elements. Fucking examples of noble gases are fucking neon, fucking argon, fucking krypton and fucking mint sauce. Gotta have some more of that mint sauce._

Caleb adjusted his suit, and moved around in his leather-padded chair, which was already burning up with two freaking hours of sitting down to a Valentine's dinner with Sarah. The sweet and minty tang of mint sauce tasted wonderful in his mouth. Caleb gave an unwarranted inward groan when Sarah let the _other_ strap of her gown fall carelessly while talking, leaving her bare-shouldered. _Not when I'm eating, Sarah._

"You haven't eaten much of your roast lamb," uttered Sarah, finally taking time off her self-absorbed chattering to pay notice to Caleb.

"Not really up to it. Dessert?"

_Say yes, Sarah. Say yes to dessert and I can dump you back at your dorm the minute this dinner is fucking over._

Sarah, who clearly thought there was something so sweetly and clichély romantic about dessert, said yes while looking deeply and meaningfully and lustily into Caleb's eyes.

The waiters were garbed in white-cotton buttoned shirts with black waistcoats over them. And on the top of their black trousers they draped a clean, white apron. Aesthetically pleasing in blacks and whites. The waitresses wore similar uniforms, but with black knee-length skirts instead of trousers. Caleb had been watching every aspect of the waiters and waitresses for the first half-hour, while Sarah had jabbered away on some random subject.

A waiter approached their table, carrying two plates of almost-identical chocolate cake slices, and Caleb felt like killing him for not walking faster. Caleb felt like killing the chocolate cake, too.

And Caleb, amidst his sleepy and irritated haze of boredom, was plunged into surprise when he recognised the waiter as Tyler. It was like ice-cold liquid had run down his spine. Caleb sat up, erect in his seat, and his breath tightened. Tyler?

"Our specialty, mud cake," said Tyler in a distant and professional voice as he plonked both plates of fucking chocolate cake down on each side of the table. Caleb stopped breathing.

Tyler looked near-perfect in his waiter's outfit. Caleb's eyes traced Tyler's business-like and _hot_ profile – how the black waistcoat sloped down Tyler's built chest to his waist, where the straps of the waistcoat tightened, showing off Tyler's V-shaped torso. The white cotton apron round Tyler's waist drove Caleb's mind into frenzied excitation, for it could not hide the muscular curve of Tyler's butt. Blood rose to Caleb's cheeks, and Caleb mouthed a soft, breathless "Thanks" as the plate of Gloucester Steak House Mud Cake Valentine's Day Special was set in front of him. _Fucking hot waiter._

And Tyler walked off.

Sarah began eating her chocolate cake daintily, sending lusty signals at Caleb with her high-heels, breasts, shoulders, blond hair, threaded eyebrows, and goodness knows what else. She was oblivious to the fact that Tyler had just appeared to them as a hunky waiter-god and served them cake. She had not spared any recognition for Tyler – she was too absorbed in her fantasies of having good old sex with Caleb to notice waiters.

Caleb licked his mint-sauce-tasting lips. Chocolate cake? Nope.

And Caleb's boredom was vanquished, and what lay beneath was a chilling need, a pressing purpose.

He wanted Tyler tonight. Tonight, on fucking Valentine's Day.

"Where're you going?" asked Sarah, apprehension nagging at her as Caleb got up from his seat and began leaving the table, leaving his Gloucester Steak House Mud Cake Valentine's Day Special untouched. Caleb was casting stares round the fancy restaurant, as if he was looking for something. It was unnerving her a little. She had wanted to feed Caleb some chocolate cake in that cute romantic-couple way so much.

"Going to the washroom for a while," Caleb mumbled, setting off.

Caleb pushed open the heavy ornate door and entered the Gents. What a fancy place this was. The Gents was nicely decorated, with adequate air-conditioning and music playing somewhere from the ceiling. His boxers were tight, too tight. He was impressively hard that it made walking uncomfortable.

Caleb washed his hands without any real reason to do so. His thoughts were on something else . . .

And as Caleb made to leave, the door of the Gents opened and a fucking hot-looking waiter entered.

Caleb watched Tyler amusedly as the waiter stood at a urinal and emptied his bowels. Even Tyler's hair was exciting him, driving him to a frenzy – Tyler had run a little gel through his black hair and now it was glossy, and messy, and fucking tantalising. Caleb wanted so much to run his hands through that crown of black hair, and he was fighting to keep his lust underway, under control.

"How long are you going to keep pretending I'm not here, baby boy?"

Tyler zipped up his pants (Caleb groaned inwardly with lust at that) and adjusted his waiter's apron. "I'm on my shift, Caleb," said Tyler softly, innocently, giving Caleb a sideways smile that made the older Son want to go freaking _berserk_ with horniness. "Go eat your mud cake."

And that was the last straw for Caleb.

Caleb reached out and grabbed Tyler, pushing the waiter against the tiled wall. Tyler gave a breathy grunt as he was crushed between the hard wall and a steaming Caleb. Caleb gave in to his pent-up desire, running his hands firmly over Tyler's lithe and muscular form, adorned in a butler's blacks and whites, feeling the tone of muscles which lay disguised beneath thin cotton. Caleb breathed deeply, inhaling the scent of Tyler's gelled-up hair and his aftershave. Tyler made to withdraw from Caleb but the older Son caught Tyler's hands within his own, and Tyler was wearing a silver ring on the middle finger of one of his hands, and Caleb thought the would _burst _in his pants just looking at all these ornaments which made the waiter all the more sexier to him.

"I don't _like_ mud cake, Ty," whispered Caleb dangerously into Tyler's ear.

Caleb kissed Tyler with fierce intent, and practically _dragged_ the poor assaulted waiter into a cubicle, latching the door after them.

Caleb unbuttoned Tyler's black waistcoat . . .

Sarah drummed her manicured fingers on the table, and shifted chocolate-coloured crumbs on her plate with her spoon. She looked at Caleb's untouched mud cake and wondered if Caleb would mind if she ate his share, too. After all, Caleb was taking awfully long at the washroom. And he had hardly even touched his roast lamb. Sarah adjusted the straps of her gown and went on drumming her fingers.

Tyler's waiter garb lay in a heap on the floor of the Gents, and Caleb's formal attire was thrown alongside it. Caleb kissed Tyler's bare chest, and rubbed his chin on it, and Tyler suppressed a whimper as the stubble of Caleb's chin grazed the skin of his chest erotically. Caleb went on dragging his stubbled chin along Tyler's chest - sexual torture for the poor young waiter.

Sarah took another lady-like sip of her wine and thought, what the hell, might as well finish Caleb's mud cake. And so Sarah tucked in heartily. Who could resist mud cake?

Tyler broke away from Caleb's kiss, licked his lips, swallowed, and said, "Mint sauce?"

Caleb emitted a breathless and embarrassed chuckle. "Yeah."

"We've got a whole tub of this stuff in the kitchens."

Caleb kissed Tyler again, a fierce kiss mingled strongly with mint sauce, and Tyler struggled to breathe. But the mint sauce tasted good, especially coming from Caleb's lips and mouth.

Caleb plunged deep into Tyler, and Tyler stifled a moan as his prostate was stimulated. Before they both came, Caleb leant over and put his lips close to Tyler's ear. "Happy Valentine's Day, baby boy."

* * *

**Dedicated to all those of you who hate Valentine's Day and the people who have the nerve to even **_**celebrate**_** it. **

**(Yes, I am terrible at sex scenes. That wasn't even a proper sex scene. Or maybe I'm just not brave enough to type really raunchy stuff. I mean, I'm typing this in a public place, you know. I don't want some stranger to look at my screen and . . . . never mind.) **

**Hope you enjoyed reading this.**


	2. Downwards

**Downwards**

Sarah looks at me and reaches out with one pale, slim hand to caress my cheek. I let her, feeling like a reluctant dog petted by well-meaning strangers. Whenever I see Sarah, I tell myself that she is my girlfriend, that I am her boyfriend, that I like her a lot. I don't know why I have to remind myself about it anymore, but I do.

I notice Sarah's delicate face altering slightly – now a worried expression is plastered on, complete with frown lines and pursed lips. Sometimes I can't tell if she truly understands me.

"Tell me, Caleb," she mutters softly. She sounds concerned enough, so I begin.

"I'm failing. In my studies." And then I stop there. My voice is feeble. I can't go further, maybe tell her how my Powers are intensifying as my Ascension nears, tell her how the addiction grows in my veins, tell her how exhilarating it feels to Use, how much pressure is lifted when I Use. I can't concentrate much these days. I just can't. The addiction is too much . . . I skip classes, and walk in the snow-covered Ipswich woods, and try to fight the urge. My hands sweat a lot these days. My birthday is only weeks away.

Sarah sighs – I watch as her glossy lips open beautifully. "I know, Caleb. You're missing your classes, I hardly see you nowadays, you don't call me anymore and you're . . . drifting, Caleb." She pauses. "You used to top the class."

And then she asks, "Why?" but by then I am already walking briskly off, ignoring her plaintive calls, feeling the winter air bite my cheeks, wondering if Sarah thinks I'm cheating on her with another pretty girl.

My legs pound through the deep snow, with the muscles I gained through years of swimming. Try as she might, Sarah will not be able to catch up with me.

Then it happens again. I feel it. I want to Use, terribly. Intense, sharp craving. I must Use. I simply must, for how can I disobey this wonderful feeling? I stop in my tracks and look back apprehensively. I can't Use with Sarah around.

But Sarah is not there anymore. Only the long trail of deep footprints I have left in the white, white snow.

And then the image of my wasted father is conjured in front of my eyes. I see him, senescent and immobile, trapped in a dying body. I catch myself for a moment, surrounded by the soft, inviting snow. Then I break down. I fall to the ground, burying my wretched and teary face in the white carpet of snow, tasting the bitter tang of ice with my tongue.

Why am I crying now? Because my grades have dipped tremendously, making me feel like a stupid, good-for-nothing slacker? Because I can't fight much longer? Because my neck and hands sweat profusely nowadays? I don't know, but I cry anyway – it feels good to indulge in self-pity once in a while.

Just the other night I was walking unsteadily back from Nicky's. I wasn't gone-drunk, just a little tipsy, to be honest. So I saw, very clearly, Sarah standing awfully close to another boy, outside the dormitory building. He was touching her cheek.

I get up, ignoring the chunks of snow in my hair and on my windbreaker. I let my tears dry up, evaporate in the cold winter winds. Tonight, tonight I will get stinking drunk. I will. The stupid addiction cannot touch me when I am drunk. I walk aimlessly through the snow, and then I sit down. What's the point of walking anyway? I recline, allowing my back to press deep into the snow, then I move my hands and legs furiously, not stopping until I am sure I have made a proper snow-angel. Then I stop and wait for the next bout of addiction to hit me again.

I mutter "My life sucks" under my breath, over and over again, mindlessly, just for the fun of it.

I don't know how long I have been here, lying amidst the snow, in my snow-angel, but I become aware of another presence. Someone has approached me, and I want to tell the intruder to leave me the heck alone, but I'm too bloody tired to do anything.

The intruder lies down beside me and starts making a snow angel. This makes me want to scream. Perhaps I will Use on this stupid intruder, make him fly into a tree – but wait, I cannot Use. I must not Use.

It's not a fucking stranger. It's only Tyler. He finishes his snow-angel and turns his head and looks sideways at me. I do the same. Then I stare at his blue eyes for a while, and he doesn't turn away; he kindly lets me look at his blue eyes. I appreciate that he shuts up – I haven't got the stomach for conversation at the moment.

I reach over, crossing the imaginary boundary between the two snow-angels, and take his cold hand in mine, equally as cold. He squeezes my hand firmly.

I want to say "Thank you" but I don't – I just look at the grey winter sky.


	3. DVD

**DVD**

The Danvers mansion is an old, old place. One day it will pass into my ownership, and I shudder at the very thought. Me, Caleb, lonely and mysterious patriarch of the Danvers bloodline. Shall I ever be free?

I open the door to find Tyler. He wears Reid's jacket – navy blue, with a reddish hood. He is slightly damp, as it is drizzling outside. He smiles wanly, and his blue eyes crinkle at the corners. I am, admittedly, surprised at this sudden visit. My friends usually avoid congregating at this gloomy mansion of mine. ("It's just – too big. And dark," Reid once said.)

"Evelyn home?" Tyler enquires as he walks in.

I shake my head in reply. "My mum's at the psychiatrist. Don't ask about it. Not now." I am, frankly, pissed off at my mother's drinking and depression. But I'm glad she's decided to get help.

"Well that's good, cause I wanted to," he hesitates, "borrow your TV."

I lick my dry lips without really thinking. "My TV?"

Tyler's blue eyes wander away to the stuffed leopard which stands in an eternal crouch on one corner of the antique-looking living room. "If you're not using it, of course."

I ask him what he wants to watch and he blushes slowly, and fixes his eyes on the stuffed leopard. He mumbles something about a DVD. I shrug – I'm not in the mood to embarrass Baby Boy – and I switch on the TV.

"Mind if I watch too? I'm kinda free at the moment," I suggest. And it's true – I am dead-bored. Thank God Tyler showed up on my doorstep.

Tyler's blush does not dissipate. He is embarrassed. My mind chugs furiously for a moment, and then I realise he has a DVD shoved in his jacket. Why is Baby Boy so hesitant? I am amused, and playfully wrestle the DVD out of Tyler's reluctant grip.

"Shit, Baby Boy, this is porn!" I joke.

And then my eyes focus properly on the DVD, and I see: 'Gossip Girl: The Complete Season One'. I look at Tyler, who nibbles at his lower lip.

"Gossip Girl? I thought that show was for girls," I begin, and then I start guffawing. Tyler – watches Gossip Girl? I mean, that show is freaking candy for girls – God knows when Sarah and Kate will stop talking about it to one another.

Tyler's embarrassment is forgotten as he gets annoyed at my laughter. He snatches the DVD out of my hands and starts fiddling with the DVD player. "If you don't like Gossip Girl you can leave me the heck alone," he says softly and defiantly.

Then he curls up on the sofa and fixes his blue eyes on the TV. My laughter subsides and I fall noisily into the sofa, beside poor Baby Boy. Maybe I'll see for myself how this Gossip Girl show is like.

Tyler hits the 'Pause' button before anything starts.

"Promise me you won't tell Reid I watched this," he says insistently, shifting about to face me and looking me straight in the eye. "Promise, Caleb."

I decide to mess around with Tyler, and pretend to ignore him. He punches my side playfully, and I pretend nothing has happened. But he punches me again and again and again, telling me to promise each time, until I grab his arm and say, "I promise, all right. Now quit fucking around." And before he can react I reach over and hit the 'Resume' button and Tyler is forced to glue his eyes to the TV as Season One of Gossip Girl begins.

Gossip Girl . . . handsome guys, pretty chicks – I start getting slightly bored after a few episodes. I look at Tyler and his blue eyes are fixated on the TV – he watches, and listens. Some guy finds his girlfriend is cheating on him, some innocent pretty girl falls into a malevolent girl clique – the plot is dizzying. And fucking boring. It is a show meant for drooling girls, and I puzzle as to why Tyler even watches it, and why he buys the fucking complete first season. And why he watches it in my stupid house.

So I watch Tyler instead. I savour the profile of his face as the evening shadows are cast upon it, I look for the fine lines marking his cheekbone, the slight crinkle at the edge of his blue eyes, the arch of his eyebrows, the curve of his lips. I watch the slight movement of his shirted chest as it moves inwards and outwards with each breath he takes. He has taken off Reid's jacket and has thrown it carelessly onto the floor. And as the evening draws on and the living room darkens and the light of my TV intensifies in the gloom, I watch Tyler watching Gossip Girl.

And I doze off.

* * *

When I open my eyes blearily, trying to blink away my sleep, I find my position on the sofa has changed a little. Now Tyler is curled up against me, and I find that he has wrapped my arms round his warm torso. My chin rests on Baby Boy's head. The now darkened living room is lighted by the weak flickering light of the TV. That goddamn Gossip Girl hasn't ended yet. I tighten my arms round Tyler to show him I'm awake.

Tyler squirms a little.

I reach down and put my lips close to Tyler's ear, and whisper, "Why do you like Gossip Girl so much, Baby Boy?"

Then I nuzzle his cheek, and push my hands under his shirt and rub his stomach.

"Caleb, stop – fucking distracting," Tyler complains, as I try to get frisky with him.

Then Tyler hits the 'Stop' button and the DVD halts – the darkened house is silent. Tyler frees himself from me and ejects the shiny DVD.

"It's getting late, Caleb, I'd better go before Reid worries."

I grunt in reply.

Before he leaves he turns to me and fixes his blue eyes upon me.

"I'll come round sometime tomorrow to finish the DVD, alright?" he asks.

My guts do a gleeful back-flip – Tyler has no idea how much I am going to look forward to it. I smile and agree.

I lick my dry lips and watch Tyler drive away.


	4. Baby Boy

**Baby Boy**

Shall I tell you how Baby Boy seduced me?

As with everyone else, I was taken in by Tyler's docile ways, his sweet silences, his boyish crop of black hair, his fragile blue eyes, his quiet intelligence, his awkward movements.

I wanted to like him, to be his close companion, but I knew all along that young Tyler held me in deep awe, and respect, that we were not – how do I say this? – equals. I was the masterful leader, and I could not hope for his true friendship anymore than a king cannot hope to marry a pretty servant-girl.

Of course, I could indulge myself in the mild gestures of casual friendship – that was allowed, that was fine enough. I could choose to sit beside Tyler in the cafeteria, I could lend Tyler a few bucks if he needed money, I could give him a ride anywhere he wanted when his Hummer was out of petrol, I could discuss Advanced Algebra with him. I could laugh with him, smile at him, share my beer with him, play foosball with him.

I wanted more.

I would construct excuses just to be able to pat Tyler's back or touch him in some way during swimming practices. Tyler's bare, wet skin beneath my hands made me dizzyingly happy for a moment or two. And when Tyler chanced to touch _me_, it was all I could do not to get an erection in my speedo.

But when I would see Reid playfully slapping Tyler's gloriously speedo-clad backside with a damp towel, I was reminded with a painful gnaw in my heart that Tyler and Reid shared an unspoken bond with one another, and I could only stand from afar and dream.

Baby Boy, with his soft voice and slow grin and weak anger, all of which belied the sensuously built swimmer's muscles he possessed. I wished, I prayed.

I was sick of Pogue, sick of his biker boy stalwartness, sick of the aggressive sex we had together, sick of his fierce caresses. I did away with Sarah in my heart, I avoided her accuses of being distant, "not contributing", not having sex together anymore. I was harsh on Reid: I took every opportunity to remonstrate him for his Using, and our fights became more frequent.

I was falling . . .

We were at Nicky's, and Baby Boy was having a few beers with Reid. I was engrossed in a bout of foosball with Pogue. Another stupid night. Pogue licked his lips and looked meaningfully at my eyes, then dragged his gaze down to my groin. I ignored him.

A gentle hand clapped me on the shoulder. I turned round and there stood my imaginary sweetheart, Tyler. He wanted me to help carry Reid out of the bar. My brow furrowed and I looked past him to see Reid prone on the floor. "Shit, Reid passed out?" I said worriedly.

"No," Tyler hesitated, breathing heavily, "he had too much to drink I guess."

Muttering curses at Reid the Drunkard, I lugged Reid's sleeping form out of the bar together with Tyler. Our combined strength made the task so much easier. Any amount of shaking could not wake Reid.

"Put him in my Hummer – I'll drive him back to our dorm," said Tyler, making me wish Tyler cared that much about _me_ too. His blue eyes caught mine for a moment. "Wait, Caleb – is it too much if I ask you to come too? I can't carry Reid up all those stairs."

I jumped at the chance. Anything for Baby Boy. Anything.

So we drove back to the dorms, and together we heaved and panted our way up the flights of stairs, Reid still locked in drunken slumber. And then we were in the dorm room.

I sat on Tyler's bed as Tyler fussed about Reid, who had been put in his own bed. I watched (not without a certain envy) as Tyler removed Reid's shoes, socks, pants, jacket, fingerless gloves, jeans - and when Reid was left boxer-clad, Tyler arranged Reid's position as best as he could, and draped the blankets over his stone-drunk friend. Sweet, dedicated Baby Boy.

I fell back on Tyler's bed, my head hitting Tyler's battered pillow, imagining what it would be like if I shared a dorm with my beautiful Baby Boy.

And then, and then –

Tyler was on me, he straddled my form, his welcome weight on me. I was astounded, confused, and I could only look up at Baby Boy – he now had a determined twist in his expression.

"Reid's asleep, Caleb – he won't wake up, I promise. He won't wake up. He won't – notice anything. He won't hear a single thing." And Tyler's fingers touched my face. "I know you sleep with Pogue. I do that with Reid too. Sometimes. Because he usually has some girl or something."

I pulled Baby Boy down to me and pressed my hungry lips to his. I tasted beer in his mouth. I was crazy, I was dreaming, I licked Tyler's neck, buried my hands in his hair. I had wanted this for so long.

Our clothes were hastily discarded – we were upon each other immediately, I had my taste of Baby Boy's skin, his muscles, his complete body. For me, me, me. We snaked, coiled, twisted about in his bed. And when we had finished, when we had done it, I was dazed.

And Reid had slept unmoving throughout.

I nuzzled my Baby Boy's black hair. "Too bad Reid missed the fun we just had."

Tyler shifted his head. Now he was looking up at me. I smiled weakly at my wonderful Baby Boy. "Maybe I should tell you. I spiked Reid's beer with sleeping pills from the drugstore," he confessed softly.

I blinked. "You dosed Reid? Shit, he's gonna kill you if he finds out. You could have killed him!" I was, I admit, a little shocked.

Tyler tried to protest but that made me all the more angry. We argued half-heartedly, and in the end Tyler buried his head in my chest with a frustrated sigh, refusing to say anything. I fell silent. But deep down, I was repulsed at what Tyler had done. How could Baby Boy dose his best friend? The malevolence of it all amounted to betrayal. We had sex again later that night. Baby Boy had me wrapped all too tightly round his finger. He was not mine – I was his.

Deep in the quiet night, a blanket of darkness over us, Tyler leant against my ear and whispered, "Baby Boy."


	5. Again

**Author's Note: Hi, my fellow slash readers. Does anyone want to send me a prompt? Feel free to do so. Thanks for the reviews.**

* * *

**Again**

Last visit.

Buried in white sheets on the hospital bed. Reid's lips were chapped and dry, his body was thin and emaciated, his blond hair had lost its lustre, his skin scaly, and pale. Death radiated off him.

He looked at his friends, then his glassy blue eyes found Tyler's.

"Promise me, promise me, promise . . . "

His friends moved closer.

"Promise me you will love someone else."

Tyler stared incredulously at Reid. "No way," he uttered shakily.

"When I'm gone. Promise me."

"No!" And with that Tyler backed out of the room, tears glistening in his eyes, defiant, refusing to listen to Reid's weak pleas.

Reid shifted his head painfully to focus dimly on Caleb and Pogue, who had remained, equally incredulous. "One of you, any one, please, someone has to love Baby Boy when I'm gone. He cannot go on mourning for ever – please. One of you. One of you."

Caleb nodded. Pogue grunted in agreement.

"Reid, we shall all love you, we'll remember you," said Caleb stiffly, holding Reid's bony hand.

Last visit.

Reid died later that night.

* * *

Funeral. Tears. Mourning.

Tyler was prone to sudden attacks of moody silences, speaking to no one, rushing off to be alone. Caleb and Pogue understood this. Tyler would break off during conversations, during meals, during classes, and rush off to solitude. His face was often grimy and tear-stained. Tyler evaded company, finding solace in heavy drinking. Caleb and Pogue understood this too.

But weeks and weeks and weeks had passed, and Caleb and Pogue knew that Reid was right. Tyler looked at no girl, he retreated from the sympathetic affections he received from the girls – he refused sex. He resigned himself to pining for his lost mate. Without Reid, Tyler denied himself a life.

Caleb and Pogue saw this, and recalled Reid's last request. It was time.

* * *

"Shut the FUCK up!"

Tyler was livid, his face flushed, his expression threatening. "You don't know what you're talking about. Fuck the heck off."

Caleb and Pogue exchanged mutual glances. Caleb breathed in, collecting his thoughts. "Tyler, Reid would not want to see you live the rest of your life as some lonely bachelor. Fuck, the girls are all over you and you don't fucking _care_."

"Shut the hell up."

"You heard Reid that last day in the hospital. You heard what he wanted. For you." Caleb paused. "It's not right, Tyler, for you to pine away like this. You have to, have to – move on."

Tyler made to throw a punch in Caleb's face, but was restrained by a quick Pogue. Tyler struggled in vain frustration. "Don't you fucking _talk_ to me about moving on!"

Caleb's eyes flashed malevolently. "Stop this, Tyler. You let your anger get the better of you. You walked out on Reid the day he died, remember? You refused to listen to him. And Reid, Reid only thought of you before he died. He only cared for you. And you know he wants you to move on. You didn't even tell him you loved him the night he died."

Tyler had collapsed limply in Pogue's arms. He sobbed into Pogue's chest, hands pressed against his ears, vainly trying to fend off Caleb's piercing words, the biting truth which Caleb spoke.

* * *

By the time Tyler weakly agreed to attempt the great and impossible feat of Moving On, by the time he reluctantly agreed to fulfil Reid's dying wish, it was already winter.

_One of you, any one, please, someone has to love Baby Boy when I'm gone._

Pogue was obsessed with Kate – by unspoken agreement it was Caleb who had to undertake the task of helping Tyler's crippled heart walk again. Caleb gallantly conceded.

Winter snow.

"I won't love anyone but Reid. Fuck you," mumbled Tyler half-heartedly. But he knew he needed to try.

Caleb's first kiss was painful. It reminded him too much of Reid's lips, it brought to mind the frosty beauty of Reid's features, the wavy curve of Reid's perfectly sculpted lips. Tyler had to break away and collect his thoughts. Caleb was concerned. "Anything wrong, Ty?"

Tyler licked his lips moodily, then braced himself as Caleb reached in again for a second kiss. Caleb tried to be as gentle as he could, allowing his arms to wrap round Tyler's waist, providing the comfort and warmth to reassure him that it was okay to love someone different.

Tyler was clearly listless, going through the motions thoughtlessly, heartlessly. But it was a first step, the kiss.

Then the second step. Caleb moved into Tyler's dorm, occupying the space Reid had dominated, claiming Reid's former bed. Tyler was vehement about the whole affair, and threw a fit, but in the end he knew the bed could not stand empty for ever.

Caleb tried to wean Tyler off the heavy boozing. He confiscated the beer bottles Tyler kept under his bed, and kept Tyler under constant scrutiny lest Baby Boy snuck a bottle or two. He did everything to kick Tyler's drinking habit – threats, cajolery, reminders, pleas, and even physically restraining a stubborn Tyler on one occasion. Tyler stopped drinking. He was sullen. Tyler sometimes closed his eyes and imagined that the sounds coming from the other side of the dorm were from Reid. When Caleb went about his business, he would vainly envision Reid in Caleb's place, attempting to conjure up a hallucination of Reid. Caleb's sleeping form, Caleb in the showers, Caleb in the pool, Caleb doing his homework beside him, Caleb kissing him – all these became Reid in the sad vagaries of his imagination.

Then sex.

Caleb was hesitant, but poured his effort into it. Kisses, caresses, bites – everything to reach into Tyler's libido. Tyler, who had shunned sex for a fairly long time since Reid's demise, gave in to his own lust pretty easy. Caleb was skilled at what he did, and soon they were entangled in one bed, naked but for the blankets. But Caleb's finer instincts could sense Tyler's ever-so-slight reluctance. When Caleb would nuzzle into Tyler's hair after sex, or stroke his bare back, or press against him – Baby Boy would cringe a little, as if recognising Caleb's love gestures as foreign. The memory of Reid still held sway over Baby Boy's heart.

_Someone has to love Baby Boy when I'm gone._

* * *

Winter snow had given over to spring life. Summer bordered on the edges, promising warmth.

And Caleb had done everything.

Caleb had taken Tyler to movies, to bars, to outdoor trips where they would sit and watch sunrises and wildlife. Caleb had taken Tyler under his wing in swimming, coaching Tyler's different strokes, perfecting Tyler's swim. Caleb had stayed with Tyler, studying with him, sitting beside him in classes, discussing homework with him. He had caressed Tyler in the nights, during sex, in the showers, he had kissed away Tyler's tears. He had laughed with Tyler, shared with Tyler, fought with Tyler, worried about Tyler, dreamt of Tyler, comforted Tyler – everything.

Everything.

So this was it. Caleb had fulfilled Reid's deathbed wish.

Caleb had fallen in love.

* * *

Caleb walked across the sun-warmed grass to Tyler, who could not help but smile at the older boy. Then Tyler rushed up and hugged Caleb tightly. "Where were you, man?"

"Thinking."

Tyler caught Caleb's steady gaze. "Thinking?"

Caleb's dark gaze was strong, dominating his handsome face.

"I love you Tyler. It's stupid not to fall in love after everything we've had. I love you, you hear me?"

Tyler's blue eyes wandered from side to side, studying Caleb's face. "No, hang on."

Caleb licked his lips slowly, then reached close for a kiss. But Tyler backed away. "Wait."

Caleb's eyebrows furrowed in worried anticipation.

"Caleb, you can't just, you can't say that." Tyler breathed in. "I need, I need some time."

"No, Ty." Caleb's face contorted into pained exasperation. "You can't run. You can't keep avoiding this. I love you, don't you get it? I love you. _Fuck._"

Tyler shook his head, and Caleb burst out. "Fuck you, you know that? It's always Reid with you – you wanna die too? And see your precious Reid Garwin? He's fucking dead and it's months and you're still not over him yet? I cannot believe you, Tyler Simms, dammit."

Caleb was breathing heavily. Tears adorned Tyler's frail-looking eyes. Caleb shoved Tyler forcefully. "I said I loved you, didn't I? Well, I take it back," Caleb spat vehemently into Tyler's frozen face.

And Caleb stalked away, over the grass, over the Spenser green, leaving Tyler alone.

* * *

_Love Baby Boy when I'm gone._

Tyler crept up to Caleb's bed (which had once, months and months ago, been Reid's bed). Caleb's perfectly sculpted form was spread out, wrapped in blankets, slumbering. Tyler shook Caleb awake as gently as he could.

When Caleb was sufficiently awake, Tyler pressed his lips to Caleb's dry mouth for a moment.

"Caleb, I love you. Okay? I love you too." Tyler announced this carefully, softly, making Caleb's heart swell.

There was nothing Caleb could do but gather the boy he loved into his arms and fall asleep that way.

* * *

Tyler had stood in the open field that day, watching a jilted and sullen Caleb walk away from him. He had stood there dumbly for a few seconds, minutes, swimming about in his thoughts, attempting to figure out his feelings. He had looked at the sunny sky, and squeezed his eyelids against the sun, and had whispered his prayer to the afternoon winds. "I love you, Reid Garwin."

_Promise me._


	6. Orphaned

_Prompt by Sakurabound_

* * *

**Orphaned**

When my stepmother died, I became an orphan for real.

But I didn't mind. I wanted her dead.

Those long hungry nights locked in the grimy bathroom, with only tap water to drink and the hard tiles for my bed, those nights I would dream of killing her. In the vague depths of my mind I concocted elaborate murder plots.

I watched as the black coffin was lowered into the gaping abyss. The tombstone read: 'Abigail Manson-Simms: In Fond Remembrance'. The scent of fresh flowers littered the springtime Ipswich graveyard that morning of the funeral. The predominantly black-clad congregation huddled round my beloved stepmother. I stood back.

I thought of my stepmother – her lips were always elaborately glossed and lipsticked. She paid attention to her face indeed. And I would see those lips purse as she gripped my flailing arms with inhuman prowess and force the alkaline fire of laundry detergent into my protesting mouth. The noxious aftertaste, the pain down my gut – all these lingered for hours afterwards. She would not let me vomit. "If you dare throw up," she threatened in her soft, musical timbre of a voice, "I'll make you swallow it back." And there was indeed one stupid occasion when my stupid stomach regurgitated rebelliously, and she made me re-swallow the muck, spooning it back slowly, cursing me, and I learnt my lesson.

Did my tears work? Did screaming help? Did my pleas ever strike her iceberg of a heart? I think not. The numerous occasions when she cracked a dinner plate over my arm, when she slapped me unmercifully for 'annoying' her, when she pressed the warmed iron torturously into my blistering back, the times I was 'disobedient' – I would be punished by going without dinner, and my dear stepmother would lock me up in the kitchen bathroom for the night. One morning she unlocked the battered and stained bathroom door to find me trying to eat my damp shirt – I was that hungry.

She broke my leg once. I do not remember the offence; only that she was livid, brimming with an intensity of temper I had never seen before. She dragged my desperate body over to the top of the staircase and pushed me over. My limbs were knocked around, in a flurry of wind I found myself at the bottom of the stairs, contorted painfully, and a deep pain sounded from my poor left leg. I did not cry. Quietly she gathered me, bruised and broken, with her affectionate arms, taking care not to touch my left leg, and drove me to the hospital. She was oddly taciturn and kind. The doctors, and the nurses. Never before had I seen such kind adults. They asked me questions, strange questions. Did Abigail beat me? Was Abigail Manson a Good Mother? I did not understand. Abigail was my stepmother. Perhaps she did those things because I was as naughty as she said I was. I did not understand. And Abigail kissed my cheek fondly, in Gloucester Hospital, for all to witness. I ended up in crutches for months.

But if home was hell, then school was a reprieve, a bliss.

Reid, Caleb, Pogue. The three boys I cared most for in the tumultuous darkness of my childhood. They were fun, they were spunky, I thought they were the coolest bunch of guys in the world. I poured all my enthusiasm in all the mischief we got ourselves into – climbing trees, taking a dip in the creek, messing with the teachers, drinking beer – and when we parted ways at the resonant afternoon school bell, my heart broke each time, with each friendly wave.

I didn't care for the physical marks which bore the abuse of my beloved stepmother. I hid them amidst layers of clothing, behind a contented mask, behind my sullen emotional fortress. I lived only for my three school friends.

When I was thirteen, I became a boarder at Spenser Academy. No more stepmother, no more pain. She had rid herself of me – I had been emancipated at last. My days and years were spent in Spenser, spent with my cherished friends. My roommate, Reid Garwin. I liked him the best. The cuts, the aches, the pain, scars – everything faded. I saw Abigail infrequently, then I saw her no longer.

I grew up. I was safe.

I knew that abuse was wrong. I knew that Abigail had done something wrong.

How do I describe to you the precise moment when the seed of revenge implanted itself within my consciousness? I cannot. But as the days and years grew by I longed for vengeance, I harboured a sinful fantasy of making Abigail feel all the pain she forced me to experience when I was under her cruel wing. I kept this from my friends – what would they say if they knew all the vicious thoughts I entertained, my friends who fondly called me 'Baby Boy'?

* * *

My final year at Spenser Academy.

I went back to my old home, butterflies in my stomach. It was abandoned. Abigail had hooked up with a well-to-do banker, she had moved to an adjacent town.

I tracked her down.

It was a posh apartment, with some fancy metropolitan name. I took the lift to the twelfth floor. I knocked on Door 23B. My stepmother opened it. She looked a little older, but the features were intact.

I killed her while she stood at the doorstep. I killed the only way I could – I used my Power. I was not a pretty sight, but it was a clean job. And then I went back to dear old Spenser Academy, leaving no tracks.

Tyler Simms the guilty orphan. No one would ever know.

* * *

People threw glances of sympathy at me, stiffly offered me their condolences.

I did not mourn. How could you mourn for someone you murdered?

Round the coffin, in the sweet-smelling graveyard, the black-clad mourners crowded. The priest began his litany.

I walked away, over the undulating graves, over the pretty flowers, through the ancient trees.

Then I was aware of quick footsteps trudging towards me. In a spark of guilt I tried to hurry away unnoticed but the footsteps became closer, then someone caught my hand. Caleb Danvers.

He did not let go of my hand, and I was helplessly tethered to him.

"Are you okay, Ty?" His dark eyes were sad.

He pulled me to him. I buried my face in his black overcoat, enjoying the warmth.

"Tyler."

I broke away and looked at him questioningly.

He did not continue, but leant over and pressed his lips to mine. I felt his hands grip the back of my neck, forcing me further into the kiss, drowning, falling. His hands traced patterns on my neck. I shuddered involuntarily.

Then the sound of Reid's shout broke through. We broke away. Reid was standing from afar, summoning us. Reid's hands were shoved in the pockets of his black blazer, and his blue eyes watched us with odd displeasure.

Caleb avoided my eyes. I suppose he had something to feel guilty about, too.

We walked back to the funeral.

Reid held my hand throughout. Possessive, but there you go. We were roommates, after all.

Abigail Manson-Simms, dearly departed.


	7. Taking

**Taking**

The theatre was bathed in dim light. Tyler felt his way along the heavy velvet stage curtain and heard only his clattering footsteps on wood. The sea of empty seats below the stage looked very inviting. He wanted nothing better than to curl up for a nap in one of them. But he had to wait for Caleb.

Yet Caleb was not here. And ahead of him the blood-red curtain billowed out. Impossible, Tyler thought. There was no wind here. And the stage curtains were too bulky, too heavy to yield to moving air. Perhaps he was not alone after all. Perhaps it was Caleb.

Then the curtains parted, and Tyler stopped pacing abruptly. A girl came out and faced him. He blinked stupidly at her. She wore a faded red shawl which clothed her head and shoulders. The rather outdated dress she wore was in a similar shade of red.

"Follow me."

And she came to Tyler and took his hand silently. Her hand was pale, yet her grip was firm, almost painful but not quite. She took him through the curtain into the darkness of the closed stage. Tyler was blind now; he let the queer girl lead him silently where she would. Not for the first time he wondered why Caleb had not showed up as promised. It was Caleb's idea to meet at this empty theatre anyway. He felt glum at being alone.

But he was not alone. The girl was leading him deep into the dark, then her hand fell away from his, and Tyler stood still in panic. Space, empty space, all round him, and darkness which tore away at his sense of direction. Then he felt moist lips on his neck, and he knew it was the girl, come back for him. Her hard teeth pierced his skin, and Tyler cried out impulsively, but his cry was muffled by her strong hand against his mouth.

Tyler writhed in pain as she sucked and swallowed at the blood which gushed out of his neck with every heartbeat. His brain felt loosened at the hinges, he knew he was going to lapse into unconsciousness soon. He knew he was going to die. Then he blacked out.

* * *

"Freda?"

The girl turned round and smoothed out her red dress with fluttering hands. She smiled prettily at Caleb.

"Have you– have you done it to Tyler?" Caleb said.

Freda gave a delicate nod. "Be patient," she said. "I'm sure he'll wake soon."

"He didn't – die?"

Freda smiled faintly. She would have to dispose of the body soon, perhaps in the cold icy depths of the Ipswich River. "Of course not, Caleb," she said, coming close to Caleb and pressing her cold lips against his for a long moment. "But even if he did – by accident, I mean – you'd still have me."


End file.
